


Undertow

by psychoadept



Series: kink!verse [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-25
Updated: 2005-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychoadept/pseuds/psychoadept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. Wesley's waiting...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undertow

Wesley wasn’t sure how long he’d lain there, loosely spread-eagled on Giles’ bed, blinded by a strip of cloth. His cock, pressed between his stomach and the bed, amplified every beat of his heart into a throb that washed over him like a wave, rocking him on a sea of pleasure that he wanted to drown in. He didn’t, though. Didn’t lift his hips, didn’t rub his erection against soft sheets that felt like sandpaper to his sensitized flesh, didn’t work the calm sea into a tidal wave that would pick him up and smash him on the shore. Giles wouldn’t like it.

No, Giles liked him like this—aching, longing, waiting. Waiting until Giles came up the stairs, and Wesley never knew if this time Giles would fuck him. More often he’d just pump Wesley’s cock a few times, rub his neck soothingly, and whisper in his ear, shushing his frantic pleas with words like, “Good boy,” and, “Beautiful,” and, “Mine.” Giles liked that, too—hearing Wesley beg. At first it had brought him what he wanted, but lately Giles delighted in denying him, in torturing him with pleasure until he was broken down, hysterical. On second thought, maybe it still brought him what he wanted.

When Giles wasn’t there beside him, touching him, he stayed silent. He didn’t want to annoy the older man. He could have tried to distract himself, to ease his arousal by thinking about Faith’s coma, Buffy’s rebellion, being fired. That would have defeated the purpose, though, wouldn’t it? So he didn’t try. Instead, he thought about Giles.

Hard to believe it had only been a month since he’d found himself at Giles’ door, reeling from the sting of his failures. He hadn’t really expected the older man to take him in; he’d simply had nowhere else to go. But Giles had done more than take him in; he’d taken him over. These days, Wesley’s first clear memory many mornings was of Giles pushing into him even as he awoke, splitting him open and filling him up at the same time, so that there was no chance for anything else to slip in. No doubt, no guilt, nothing in him but Giles.

But, though Wesley loved the feel of Giles’ cock inside him, he loved Giles’ hands more. It was always Giles’ hands that broke him. Giles’ hands stroking his cock, kneading his balls, sometimes so hard he screamed; fingers twisting inside him, rubbing his prostate faster and harder than a cock ever could, or pinching his nipples until his back bowed as far as it would go; palm stinging his arse until he cried, on those rare occasions when he angered Giles.

The teapot shrilled, startling Wesley out of his meditative torment. He listened to Giles move around downstairs: the creak of the recliner, the gurgle of water poured into a cup, the clatter of cup and saucer lifted, put down again. Then, to Wesley’s relief, he heard the padding of Giles’ feet on the stairs. He twisted his head around, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see.

He knew from experience that if Giles was having tea, he wasn’t ready to fuck him, so when the older man approached, Wesley raised his hips without waiting to be told. He gasped at Giles’ touch on his cock, then whimpered as the callused fingers playing along his shaft sparked an answering pleasure in his balls. His hips moved in counterpoint to Giles’ hand, but he didn’t speak, didn’t plead, not yet. Giles would know if it wasn’t sincere.

Giles’ other hand skimmed idly across Wesley’s shoulders. “I have something new for you. I think you’ll appreciate it.”

Wesley opened his mouth his mouth to say, “Oh?” but it came out as a moan.

Giles’ hands went away. Wesley slumped back to the bed with a groan of frustration and disappointment, only to have Giles nudge his hip again a moment later. He lifted himself up obediently, not sure whether he should be dreading or anticipating what would come next. Probably both.

Giles’ hands slipped around his cock again, but not to grasp. Something cool and unyielding constricted around the base, and he inhaled on a groan. Suddenly the throbs were sharper, gaining an intensity that set Wesley’s teeth on edge, kept his body taut with the need for relief.

“Please,” he whispered. As ever, he wasn’t sure whether he was asking for more or less.

“You’ll get used to it,” Giles said gently, as he resumed caressing Wesley’s erection. Even that light touch soon had Wesley’s hips twitching away, because he was harder than he could ever remember being. He felt like he was beyond coming, and the slightest friction ran through him like an electric shock.

“I can’t—” Wesley’s voice came out an octave too high.

“You can.” The bed sagged under Giles’ weight as he leaned closer. His voice dropped to a low rumble and his breath tickled Wesley’s ear. “You don’t have a choice. You’ll wear it—because I say you will. And you’ll enjoy it, won’t you?”

“Yes.” The choked confession earned a hard squeeze of his cock, making him cry out at the added pressure on flesh that already felt swollen past natural limits.

“That’s my boy.” Giles let go, stood up, started to walk away.

“Giles, please. Please.”

Giles was never so cruel as to leave Wesley begging. He returned and petted Wesley’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “It’s no use, you know. I won’t take it off.”

That wasn’t what Wesley wanted, though. He only wanted Giles with him, making it bearable. If he’d been floating on the sea before, now he was desperately treading water, just trying not to be overwhelmed. Giles’ touch, Giles’ voice buoyed him.

He pressed his cheek into that touch, whimpering Giles’ name with every ragged breath, until Giles shushed him and brushed a thumb over his lips. Wesley licked at it hopefully, craving comfort and distraction. When Giles didn’t object, he took it into his mouth and suckled eagerly, calmed by the familiar taste of dust and ink and leather from the books Giles had been handling all day.

After a minute or two, Giles’ other hand pressed against the small of Wesley’s back. “Lie down,” he ordered.

Wesley resisted, terrified by the idea of any more stimulation, though his thigh and abdominal muscles were trembling from the strain of holding himself up.

“Wesley…” Giles chided him patiently, and Wesley obeyed. Giles’ patience always made him want to obey. He bit down on Giles’ thumb to stifle a whimper as his erection scraped against the sheets, couldn’t quite stifle a groan at the weight of his body on his already-constricted cock.

“Good,” Giles said, when Wesley lay flat against the bed again.

The praise made Wesley smile around the thumb in his mouth. Then Giles took his thumb away, and Wesley sighed in disappointment.

“I’m going downstairs now,” Giles informed him. Before Wesley could voice a protest, he added, “Let me go. My tea’s getting cold, and I want to finish my book.” When Giles stood and headed for the stairs again, Wesley let out a strangled sob, but didn’t call him back.

He lay for another uncertain period—probably not the hours it seemed—occasionally hearing the clink of china and turning of pages downstairs, but mostly unaware of anything beyond the brutal waves of sensation breaking over him. Giles was wrong—he couldn’t adjust; he could only endure, quivering with tension. He whimpered in despair, tugged at his bonds. He lay still only because he couldn’t bear any friction on his cock. He came to loathe the blindfold, trapping him within his own body, giving him no escape from the pleasure-pain.

When Giles touched his shoulder he yelped and jerked against the restraints.

“You’re all right,” Giles said gently.

The hand rubbing his shoulder did nothing at all to soothe Wesley. “Please,” he begged.

Giles didn’t respond, but he freed Wesley’s legs. Wesley was on his knees at once, whimpering with relief as cool air hit his overheated, overstimulated cock. The angle of his arms pushed his face down into the bed, forcing him to spread his legs wide. Giles liked him like that—exposed, vulnerable.

There were the sounds of Giles removing his clothes, followed by the bed sagging again under his weight. The telltale squelch of lube made Wesley’s cock grow impossibly harder. Cool, slick fingers tracing his opening made him whimper again.

“Please…”

His plea was ignored. Giles’ other hand grasped his erection, milking it slowly, firmly. Wesley moaned with each squeeze, fighting against the restraints, trying to evade Giles’ grasp.

“You’ve done well, Wes,” Giles said, even as Wesley struggled futilely. “I’m proud of you.”

Wesley couldn’t help smiling again as he was rewarded by a finger sliding into him, sating his craving to be filled just enough to make it worse. “More, please.”

“How does it feel?” Giles liked to expose him this way, too, prying words out of him when he could hardly speak, tormenting him longer if he failed to answer.

“It—it hurts. It’s too much. I can’t—I can’t—”

Giles’ fingers tightened, pulled relentlessly at Wesley’s cock, dragging a prolonged wail from the back of Wesley’s throat.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Wesley choked out, and sobbed with relief when Giles let go.

Giles chuckled. A second finger joined the first in Wesley’s arse. Together they found his prostate, making him gasp, but it was preferable to having his cock stroked, so he forced himself to hold still. He quickly lost all capacity for conscious thought in the face of unremitting jolts of pleasure that arced to his balls and along his spine. He didn’t know when he started nuzzling the sheet, mumbling barely-coherent pleas; possibly about the same time tears began soaking into the soft cotton on his face. It was when he pressed his arse back unconsciously, shamelessly, for more that Giles withdrew his fingers.

Wesley bit off a cry of protest. “Please, God, Giles, please don’t stop. I need it, please…”

Giles fingers curled around his erection again and he shuddered; he could feel Giles’ cock nudging his entrance.

“What do you need?”

This part had been difficult once; now the words formed without thought. “I need you to fuck me; please fuck me.”

Giles’ response came in the form of a hard squeeze and pull of Wesley’s cock. Giles met the reflexive clench of Wesley’s arse with his own erection, thrust in abruptly. The flare of pain wrenched a scream from Wesley’s throat, even as his balls tightened unexpectedly, threatening to plunge him into orgasm. One—two—three more hard thrusts, matched by agonizing strokes of Wesley’s cock, and he was drowning, succumbing to the sea.


End file.
